quiet, Visri,’ he broke out irritably. ‘For goodness’ sake keep quiet! What does one want to make it easier for? Delusion alone is easy. Truth is always difficult.’
‘But would it not be better,’ I tried again, ‘if some guru were to guide you along the path of Truth?’
Satish was almost beside himself. ‘Will you never understand,’ he groaned, ‘that I am not running after any geographical truth? ‘The Dweller within can only come to me along my own true path. The path of the guru can only lead to the guru’s door.’
What a number of opposite principles have I heard enunciated by this same mouth of Satish! I, Srivilas, once the favourite disciple of Uncle Jagamohan,—who would have threatened me with a big stick if l had called him Master,—had actually been made by Satish to massage the legs of Lilananda Swami. And now not even a week has passed but he needs must preach to me in this strain! However, as I dared not smile, I maintained a solemn silence.
‘I have now understood,’ Satish went on, ‘why cur Scriptures say that it is better to die in one’s own dharma rather than court the terrible fate
